


the threads connect us over land and sea

by whalersandsailors



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, terror bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: Months have passed since the triumphant return ofErebusandTerror, after both ships successfully navigated the elusive Northwest Passage. On land once more, Thomas finds that he does not care for the praise or money following the expedition.A telegram arrives from one Captain Francis R.M. Crozier that reignites Thomas's desire for the sea, as well as those he left behind at the docks in Greenhithe.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	the threads connect us over land and sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onstraysod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/gifts).



> for the terror bingo prompt **fix-it**
> 
> dedicated to arcticelves. happy (belated) birthday!!

Two telegrams sit by the washbasin in Thomas’s room.

The first was delivered while Thomas was at the grocer’s, and when he arrived home to the set of rooms he shared with his brother, Luke handed him the note with poorly concealed interest.

“Looks like another expedition, don’t it, Tommy?”

Thomas frowned as he read it.

> _AM IN LONDON NEXT FIVE DAYS -STOP- WOULD LIKE TO VISIT AND DISCUSS BUSINESS -STOP-_
> 
> _CAPT. F.R.M.C._

He turned it over, in vain hope that there may be some clue he missed.

“Seems a bit soon,” he thought out loud. “Surely, the Admiralty won’t be sending him back to either of the Poles.”

Luke shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you.”

He sloppily finished the knot in his neckerchief as he slipped into his jacket. He was half out the door when Thomas called after him.

“It’s not too late to answer—“

“What, I don’t have a single penny in my—“

Thomas hurriedly grabbed a few coins from his purse. “Luke, please, a quick message to tell him I’ll be home every day after eleven.”

“As opposed to where?” Luke huffed but pocketed the coins nevertheless. “With your brimming schedule?”

Thomas lightly boxed him on the ear. “Just do it, will you?”

The second telegram arrived an hour later, so Thomas was satisfied that his brother had listened and followed his request.

> _WILL COME BY AT NOON SHARP TOMORROW -STOP- LOOK FORWARD TO IT -STOP-_
> 
> _CAPT. F.R.M.C._

Since the telegrams, Thomas has thrummed with nervous excitement.

He frees his entire day to give himself time to set his home to his — according to Luke — overly particular standards. Before long, he ushers Luke from the rooms (‘To _where?_ My shift’s not til tonight.’ ‘I don’t care. Get out. Out.’), and now, with ten minutes to spare he looks upon his domain, the nearest to a castle that would ever be his, perhaps save a captain’s tidy cabin and quarters, the steward’s pantry close by.

The room is spotless, each well-worn piece of furniture situated in its place, the fireplace emptied and swept, the windows open to the humid weather, each flat surface dusted and polished, and a fresh pot of tea steaming on the table where he and his brother take their meals.

His hands fidget with restless energy, so he detours once more to his closet of a bedroom, ridding himself of his cleaning rag and smoothing down the ever-errant part in his hair.

His heart leaps when he hears the knock at his door, but he forces himself to pause a moment and collect himself before answering.

Even on land, he is light on his feet, and he crosses the room to the door silently. The hinge on the door, however, complains loudly upon opening, but that does not deter the bright smile on Thomas’s face as he greets the captain.

Except that it is not Captain Crozier at his doorstep, but a rather sheepish, pink-cheeked Commander Little. Thomas gapes, believing for a moment that his eyes deceive him. But surely as a springtime rain, it is Edward Little standing before him.

He looks almost unfamiliar to Thomas, dressed in civilian clothing of brown and burgundy, his whiskers trimmed to a respectable length, much shorter than the wild hairs that he had grown at the coldest reaches of their planet.

When he realizes how long they have stared at each other in silence, Thomas clears his throat.

“Pardon me, Commander, I was expecting…”

“Captain Crozier, I know,” Little finishes for him. “We were to arrive together, but he was waylaid by something urgent.”

Here, he hesitates. He is nearly crushing his hat between his hands.

“There wasn’t time for another telegram, and I thought it rude if we both missed our appointment.”

 _Appointment_ , Thomas giddily thinks to himself. What a word.

Out loud, he says, “That’s kind of you.” The longer they stand in the doorway, the harder Thomas’s heart beats in his chest, so he steps aside for Little to enter. “Please, come in.”

Strange, how someone considerably less imposing than Crozier would fill the room so much that Thomas feels his face redden at how small the four walls are. His mind is a flurry of everything wrong with his home; which floorboards are crooked or what window have hairline cracks. He pats down the sides of his waistcoat, in part to deter the shame unfurling from his toes to his belly, and he hopes that Little takes no notice of either the room’s modesty or Thomas’s discomfort. He busies himself by the teapot, readying a pair of cups and saucers.

“Please, sit wherever you like. Tea?”

Little perks at that. “Yes, thank you.” He sits at the edge of the armchair by the fireplace, letting his hat rest undisturbed on his knee. His face is drawn to the midday light coming from the nearest window, the breeze wafting through the open pane unseasonably warm for late winter.

“Do you live here alone, Mr. Jopson,” Little asks conversationally, his eyes locked upon the window. “Francis mentioned a brother?”

“Yes, my brother lives here also.” He stirs some milk into both of their cups, adding unhelpfully, “He’s gone out for the time being, but…”

A curious desire for Little to meet Luke arrives at his chest like a mouse creeping from a hole in the wall, and Thomas rushes to stamp it down by asking, “Is milk all right? I’ve no sugar today.”

“Yes, that’s perfect.” Little accepts his cup with thanks, shaking his head when Thomas asks if he should like him to take his hat and coat.

Perhaps the visit will remain short. Thomas does not linger on how much the thought disappoints him as he sits a respectable distance away on the edge of the settee adjacent to Little.

When Little seems a loss at what to say next, Thomas prompts him gently, “Captain Crozier’s telegram said that he wished to discuss business. He neglected to mention that you were part of that.”

Little ducks his head. His face colors, but a smile belies any timidity. “Ah, yes, well, many things have come together suddenly. He must have left out details in his haste.”

"Is he returning to sea?"

“Francis?” Little splutters halfway through a sip, catching the loose drips of tea onto his saucer. “No, he’s considering retirement.”

Years of practiced poise keeps Thomas’s face from falling, but his eyes drop to his tea. “Is he? I never thought I would see the day.”

“Well,” Little says with a light laugh. “I don’t think it is his first choice either. But he’s finishing that memoir Sir John wants him to write, and I believe that Miss Cracroft will keep him tethered to land after that.”

Thomas nods, recalling Crozier’s last letter which informed him that Sophia Cracroft accepted his proposal of marriage, at long last.

“What of you?” Thomas takes a long sip of tea, his eyes on the floorboard even as his lips quirk. “Do you have a sweetheart trying to snatch you from the lure of the sea?”

A chuckle bursts from Little, who sets his tea aside lest his spill the entire cup. “No, the sea is enough for me.” He stares intently at the floor and moves his hat to sit beside the cup on the narrow mantle above the fireplace. “I’ve received captaincy of my own ship.”

“The Discovery Service?”

“No,” Little says with a more subdued chuckle, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead, “The Northwest Passage was plenty for me. I’m heading somewhere much warmer.”

He raises his eyes shyly, his hand creeping ever so slowly to Thomas’s knee. Thomas sets down his own tea, a hitch in his breath.

“Where is this ship of yours headed?”

“Customary patrol, along the coast of South America.” His fingers tighten slightly at Thomas’s knee. “I’ll be surprised if the voyage lasts a year. It’s a cruise more than anything.”

Fractionally, and oh so carefully, Thomas curls the tip of his pinky around the edge of Little’s palm.

His throat his dry, so he whispers the next words, “And the ship?”

Little’s hand turns upright as he lets Thomas’s hand hover over his, their fingertips grazing.

“Small, a sixteen-gun brigsloop. You might be familiar with it.”

A brilliant smile breaks on Thomas’s face as he looks up, eyes meeting Little’s.

“A fine ship,” he says, “Might the captain of this brigsloop be in need of a steward?”

Little clutches Thomas’s hand and leaves his chair to press against Thomas. His other arm snakes around Thomas’s waist as they sit nose-to-nose. Thomas’s heart thuds in his chest so wildly that it is a wonder if Little cannot hear it.

Swallowing, Little traces the shape of Thomas’s face with his eyes before they land on his mouth. His next words are barely above a murmur; “The captain is in need of far more than a steward, if Mr. Jopson will have him.”

Thomas closes the distance.

He kisses the lips that he has missed dreadfully since _Erebus_ and _Terror_ docked in Greenhithe, amidst the cheering throngs and press. No amount of fanfare could dull the heartache Thomas felt when he bid Captain Crozier and the other officers farewell, before his feet led him away from the crowds, down the serpentine roads of London.

Three years had he spent at the tableside and arm of one particular lieutenant with no plan for the future. In that man’s absence, Thomas has lived each day in a stifling haze.

When they part, Little shuts his eyes, holding Thomas tight. Their foreheads rest against each other, their knees and thighs bumping on the settee.

“I’ve missed this,” Little breathes.

Thomas laughs, reaching to cup Little’s face. He lips seek Little’s mouth once more, and then his nose, his chin, his cheeks.

“Why didn’t you write?” he asks, in between the kisses.

“I thought that you…” Little’s voice trails, eyes darting away. “I didn’t know if…what we had was only at sea. I didn’t want to take advantage.”

Thomas shakes his head, the sudden somberness in Little’s voice making him bite his lip. “You weren’t then.” He thumbs Little’s chin, smiling when Little raises his eyes, the warmth inside their depths immeasurable. “And you aren’t now, Edward.”

Little’s hand relocates to Thomas’s thigh, rubbing the muscle through the leg of his trousers.

He takes a deep breath before saying, “You also might have written.”

“I didn’t think it proper,” Thomas admits, feeling childish despite the prudency of his actions.

The relief in Little’s voice is tangible. “I thought I had angered you, somehow.”

Thomas kisses him again, sighing when Little catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nipping and sucking before he allows Thomas to pull away.

“Then we were both fools.”

He stands to clear their unfinished cups of tea, Little rising with him.

“When does your ship leave?” he asks over his shoulder.

“April.”

Thomas’s voice hushes when he feels Little’s presence close behind him. The solidity of Little’s chest against his back, hands drifting by his waist, is enough to make Thomas’s heart flutter. A tremor courses through him, and he sets the saucers down on the table, the porcelain clattering.

“How long are you in London?”

“As long as I need to be.” Little presses a light kiss against Thomas’s nape, whispering the next words into his collar. “How long is your brother gone?”

Thomas does not answer with words. Rather, he turns to Little and leads him with hands and lips to his small bedroom, shutting the door tight behind them.

***

The bed is reminiscent of the narrow berth they shared whenever Thomas would secrete himself in the lieutenant’s cabin during the stillness of night, no sound to interrupt them but the creaking of hammocks and the whisper of waves. Instead of lying on their sides, they follow a pattern similar to their arrangement at sea; Little on his back and Thomas on top, their heads nestled on the same pillow, chests pressed together, legs tangled under the blankets.

Their breathing slows. The sweat cools on their skin. And Thomas thinks that the cheerful drumming of his heart shall continue for many months to come, if not years.

His finger traces a pattern on Little’s chest as he nuzzles the sensitive sliver of skin behind Little’s ear.

“I must ask,” he murmurs, “what was Captain Crozier’s ‘urgent something?’”

“A meeting with Sir Ross. A footman delivered the request shortly before we were to arrive,” Little says, his voice sluggish and drowsy. His eyes open as the furrow deepens between his brows. “Come to think of it, I believe that man served us tea at Ross’s home a few days ago.”

A silent laugh shakes Thomas’s shoulders as he turns into Little, settling himself more comfortably along the lean planes of his hips and stomach, slotting their limbs together with practiced ease. He hums softly when Little’s fingers rub small circles at the base of his skull.

Thomas makes a mental note to write Crozier when he has the chance, inquiring after the memoir and his fiancée — but most of all, to thank him.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://whalersandsailors.tumblr.com)


End file.
